Meanwhile, back in the real world

This week nearly kicked my ass. I have a nagging, death rattle of a cough that only fires up when I need to sleep. How convenient for the lady who has such a limited number of opportunities to sleep, right? On top of that, I had to hastily plan Dos' baptism with the added stress of in-laws being involved. People? Planning a baptism should NOT be a stressful thing. Seriously. I've seen some big time baptisms with crowds of 50 people or so and, ok, THAT can be stressful. But getting 10 people in a room on a Saturday afternoon should not cause nightmares.

Much to our surprise, things went well. The baby is no longer doomed to spend eternity roaming the halls of purgatory and Saturday night she actually slept through the night for the first time ever so maybe there's something to this after all. More than just getting our parents off our backs, I mean.

And, oh, the colonoscopy? All clear and not a big deal at all. Actually, I'm such a big fan of the drugs they gave me during the process I might just go back for another. Seriously. That was a damn fine sleep. You know the way you remember a great meal, or a good wine or sex so good you can't walk right for a couple of hours? That's the way I remember the nap I took during and after the colonoscopy. The best sleep I've had in nearly three years. To hell with Rum and Coke. Versed and Demerol is my new favorite cocktail. Straight up.

When the doctor told me I'd have to have a colonoscopy, I was pretty bummed. I automatically started thinking of excuses not to have it. Then I started thinking about who I knew who had had one and what advice they could give me. Then I remembered Belinda's story. Good. Great. What did she say again? Butthole. That's all I could remember. Belinda, in all her fancy word glory, used the word butthole. Giggle. I was still in the doctor's office, mind you, and I couldn't stop smirking. Butthole. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to giggle. In front of someone who looks at a lot of these things all day long and probably sees absolutely NOTHING funny about it. Which made me want to laugh even harder. I looked down at her desk in an effort to keep my composure and what did she have on her desk? A plastic model. Of a butthole. I finally left the office and got into an empty elevator where I proceded to laugh like an idiot over the word butthole.

My name is Heather and I have the mentality of a 10-year-old boy. It's Belinda's fault.